Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/280

266 Somewhat too sure, I think, my lord Lorenzo. I scarce deemed possible that one so shy But yester-morn should hold so high a mien, Claiming what ne’er was given. Maria!

Sir, You are a trifle bold to speak my name Familiarly as no man, save my father Or my own brother, dares.

Ah, now I see Your jest. You will not seem so lightly won Without a wooing ? You will feign disdain, Only to make more sweet your rich concession ? Too late I heard it all. &quot; A new light shines On the familiar scene.&quot; What may that be, Save the strange splendor of the dawn of love ? Nay, darling, cease to jest, lest my poor heart, Hanging twixt hell and heaven, in earnest break.

Here is no jest, sir, but a fatal error, Crying for swift correction. You surprise me